Regicide
by scaenica
Summary: "The Black Sacrament has been performed, and thus, a contract has been concluded with the Dark Brotherhood. Someone wants you dead, my dear Jarl. Very dead."
1. Act I

**Regicide**

**Act I**

* * *

When he steps into his chambers, he has the feeling that something is… odd. He cannot name what it is exactly - maybe the room is too quiet like the silence before a storm, or maybe it is a sixth sense that tells him something is wrong.

When a dark figure breaks away from the shadows of the room, he makes a step back and instinctively reaches for the axe on his belt, but it isn't there.

"Looking for something?"

The intruder makes a slight gesture towards the table where he has left his blade this morning. The voice is deep and husky, but clearly belongs to a woman. As she moves forward into the light, he can see her more clearly, notices her slender figure; though she is smaller than him by at least a head, her presence partakes of something commanding and almost intimidating. She is dressed in dark leather, not black, but rather several shades of grey and brown that allow her to perfectly blend in with her surroundings.

He follows her gesture with his eyes for a moment before his gaze darts back to her. The fact that she was able to break into the palace and find her way into his room without anyone noticing tells him she is either a thief or an assassin - and whichever it is, she must be a master in her profession. Since she has obviously been waiting for him and not bolted with her loot, she must be the latter.

The wise thing to do would be to call the guards before she makes a move, yet since she has not made any attempt to attack him until now, it seems she might have another objective than to kill him.

"Who are you?"

She chuckles slightly, and though the hood shadows most of her face, he is sure he sees the hint of a smile on her lips. "That, my dear Jarl, is the wrong question."

"Then what would you have me ask instead?"

"Well, right now, the important question for you to ask would be: Why am I here?"

He keeps his eyes on her, warily. She hasn't moved since she stepped out of the shadows, stands perfectly still in the dim light of the room, just enough broken away from the shadows to give him only a vague idea of her appearance - deliberately so, of that he is sure.

"Then why don't you answer that question."

There's the smirk again and if he is not very much mistaken, it is a bit smug. "As you wish, my Jarl. I was sent here to kill you."

Her answer doesn't surprise him much. His eyes flicker back to his axe on the table and wonders if he can keep the woman distracted enough to reach it. He could call for the guards but he will most certainly be dead before they arrive. Whatever happens next, he will not most certainly not go down without a fight.

Then again, he wonders why she is still talking to him instead of plunging a dagger into his heart.

The expression on his face is blank and still she reads his reaction correctly, and gives another throaty chuckle. "Oh, do not worry, my Jarl. If I truly intended to kill you, you would already be dead."

It is as much a reassurance as it is a threat - he is at her mercy and if he makes a wrong move, she will, despite her words, not hesitate to end is life. For some reason, he does not believe it to be an empty threat. She might be small in physique and in a fair fight, he is sure, he could easily take her on. He cannot even see any weapon on her; judging by her appearance, however, she is probably well armed. And she most certainly will be quicker than him if he dared to move towards his blade.

"Then why _are_ you here, if not to kill me?"

She lifts her head enough for him to catch a glimpse of her eyes, emeralds blinking at him for a moment before she lets the hood shade her face once more. "The Black Sacrament has been performed, and thus, a contract has been concluded with the Dark Brotherhood. Someone wants you dead, my dear Jarl. _Very _dead."

The Dark Brotherhood. He has heard the rumors, surely, but never given the matter much attention. So they are truly in the ascendent again.

He does not feel any fear for his life. It is more fury that some coward dares to send an assassin instead of facing him himself, and anger that he now has to deal with this as well. He has a war to win, after all.

Right now, though, he has a more pressing question on his mind.

"Why should I trust you when you don't give me the reason for your warning?"

The gloatingl smile vanishes from the lips she allows him to see. "My father served under your command for many years. He considered you a hero. In his honor, I will spare your life." There is an earnest, almost dark tone to her voice now, and he is inclined to believe she speaks the truth.

He narrows his eyes as he tries to find something in her halfly veiled face that is familiar to him. "What was your father's name?"

And there is the smirk again. "Oh, I won't make it that easy for now. And I'm warning you - if you have me followed or try to detain me, I might think twice about killing you."

His answer is a disapproving grunt, yet he believes her words without a single doubt.

"Fine, then. At least tell me who hired you."

Again, all he gets is a crooked smile. "I do not know who performed the Sacrament. That is for you to find out. Won't be so easy, I believe. A rebel like you must have many enemies."

"Rebel?", he growls, the insult cutting into his pride as deep as her blade would into his flesh. "I am no mere rebel, woman. I am the liberator of Skyrim and the true High King-"

"Spare me the sermon." She makes a quick step forward, further into the circles of light the candles draw into the dim room, and - probably not accidentally - between him and the table with his axe. He freezes in place but she stops two steps before him and only glares up at him from under the cowl, green eyes piercing into his. He can make out the contours of her face more clearly now; high, sharp cheekbones, a scar disrupting ivory skin from her left brow over her cheek down to her jawline, pale lips pressed together to a thin, angry line. She might be Nord but he can't tell with certainty. "I don't care for your politics and I don't concern myself with your little war. I came here to warn and that I did. Now, if you would be so kind to get out of my way. I have places to be."

He stares back at her for a second, and then quietly surrenders and steps aside, away from the door, careful not to turn his back to her. It is obvious that arguing would get him nowhere; she has the aura and, apparently, the patience of a sabre cat.

"Remember", she gives him a mischievous smile before walking past him, "you send your guards after me, and you're a dead man."

He doesn't bother with an answer, instead, he watches not without fascination how she melts with the darkness as she approaches the door and gives him one last glance over her shoulder, eyes glittering mockingly.

"Don't get yourself killed, Jarl Ulfric."

And with that, she vanishes into the shadows.


	2. Act II

**Regicide**

**Act II**

* * *

He has expected the Dark Brotherhood to set another assassin on him, so he has doubled the guards and stayed alert; alas, in the next few weeks nothing of the sort happens. He can't waste good men on investigating this plot to murder him, since they are spread thin as it is, but it doesn't matter much anyhow – clearly, this is a coward attempt to get him out of the way and thus end the rebellion against the Empire. The logical conclusion is to put even more effort in winning the war as quickly as possible. Now that they have taken Whiterun, it is only a matter of time before they have enough forces to march on Solitude and drive the Imperials out once and for all.

From time to time, he finds his thoughts wandering to the intruder and he wonders where she is now and what she busies herself with. Since she broke the contract, it seems unlikely she went back to her fellow assassins. It seems a high price she paid for sparing his life and it tells him that either she lied to him and all of this is either a some kind of scheme - to "honor her father", she said, but what is honor to someone who kills for septims? - or that she was sincere and her father is actually the reason why she spared him. As much as he tries, he cannot remember anyone whom she might resemble - that her father has fought under his command, as she has told him, doesn't exactly narrow it down. He has led so many to battle. And to their death. Sometimes he thinks it's been too many who died for the choices he made.

Then again, after all he has done, good and bad, after all those men and women giving their lives for his cause, he cannot have second thoughts.

No turning back now.

After all, to continue to fight until the very end, to stand up for what he believes in, is the right thing to do.

Maybe this is why her comment on his 'little war' has wounded his pride more than it should have.

A few weeks after her intrusion, he finds a small journal, bound in leather, in his room that doesn't belong to him. He notices it, surprised, as it lays there, all inconspicuous and innocent, on his desk, and picks it up with a suspicious frown. As he opens it, a note falls out, which he reads first.

_I stumbled across this and thought you'd find it interesting._

_Also, you might want to tell your guards not to sleep during their shifts. You're making it too easy for me. And it would be a shame if you get yourself killed after all._

He stares at the note in disbelief for a while. So she was here once more. At least once. For all he knows, she could be in the room right now and he just hasn't noticed yet. He fights the urge to look over his shoulder; instead, he puts the paper aside and picks a the booklet. First he only flips through the pages, until he fully realizes what he holds in his hands. While he rereads it thoroughly, his frown deepens.

_Proven his worth as an asset…_ - _particularly valuable… - death would have dramatically increased the chance of an Imperial victory and thus harmed our overall position._

_A Stormcloak victory is also to be avoided, however, so even indirect aid to the Stormcloaks must be carefully managed._

Gritting his teeth, he slumps onto the chair and throws the dossier back on the table in disgust. If his victory would prove disadvantageous for those elven bastards, than he has another reason to fight.

Interestingly enough, now he knows it isn't them who want him dead so badly.


	3. Act III

**Regicide**

**Act III**

* * *

Again, weeks go by before he hears from her again. Then he discovers she has left him another present, this time in the main hall. Probably because she didn't want to go through the trouble of dragging the corpse all the way up to his bedroom. Instead, she left the Khajiit's body a few feet away from his throne on the floor. It reminds him of a cat proudly dropping a dead rat on its owner's kitchen floor. Only that this is far more serious.

The guards find the Khajiit with a dagger in his heart at dawn during their change of shifts and someone wakes him up so he can see for himself. He recognizes the armor. It's very similar to the one she wore, with different pouches and buckles here and there, but basically the same. But only when he tells the guards to search the body and they find no weapons, no lockpicks, nothing but a hastily scribbled note, he is certain that this is her doing.

_Stay on your guard._

He carefully folds the paper and puts it in his pocket. This is becoming a bigger problem than he has anticipated.

And not only for him, he learns some days later.

He has formed the habit of examining the shadows in the dimness of his chamber for a moment before fully stepping into the room, to see if he spots something moving there. If she - or someone else - came back he probably wouldn't see her coming anyhow but he can't help it.

When she does come back, however, she doesn't bother hiding. On the contrary, she waits in plain sight for him, sitting on a chair in front of the desk in his bedroom, and when he opens the door, he stares at her blankly for a few moments before he realizes he isn't hallucinating.

Since she doesn't wear her cowl, he finally gets a chance to study her face more closely; her sharp but even features, hair of mahogany color with a tinge of red, tamed into a braid from which some rebellious curls have come loose and fall into her face as she tilts her head and returns his gaze with those radiant green eyes of hers.

While she is stunningly beautiful, it is not a completely delightful sight. On the table, she has lined up her weapons, two finely crafted Ebony daggers, and a sword with a blade thinner than usual and also slightly curved, he is almost sure he has never seen a weapon like this. The jacket of her armor lies discarded on the floor; he can see blood stains on the thick leather. The shirt she wears underneath is partially in shreds - she has ripped out strips of the cloth and used them as bandages for the cuts on her arms and torso. Her face is slightly tense with pain and she has one hand pressed onto her belly; the white fabric underneath her fingers shows red stains as well.

It looks like she came here to lick her wounds. And he has no idea what to think of that.

"When you're done gawking", her voice sounds constrained from the pain, "you can get me another one of those." She nods towards the table where she has put a small empty vial; pink drops of the liquid on the flask's bottom tell him it was a healing potion.

If the potion hasn't brought her back to health properly, she must be wounded more dangerously than he thought. "Let me get my court mage, he can-"

"_No._" She almost hisses and, again, causes him to freeze in place. She doesn't even have to move to stop him. The power her presence seems to have over him unsettles him a little. More than a little, actually. "No one can now I'm here but you. _No one._ Just get me the damn potion and I'll be fine."

So he obeys, what else could he do? When he returns with the requested bottle, she gulps most of it down, waits with her eyes closed for a while, until the potion takes its full effect and her body slowly relaxes as the wounds close. Unwinding and obviously making herself at home, she slouches in the chair, kicks her mud-caked boots of and takes another one or two sips from the bottle from time to time. "Got another shirt for me, too? I had to leave my luggage behind."

He fetches one for her from his wardrobe and politely turns around while she changes and drops her own shirt carelessly to the floor. His garment is, of course, far too big for her but she has tugged it into her pants and doesn't seem to bother much about it. Now that she seems settled, he pulls himself a chair to sit across from her and even pours wine in two cups for them. Since she apparently has no intention to leave very soon, he might as well play host to her.

She cocks an eyebrow but silently takes the cup from him.

"Now." He drinks, then turns the goblet in his hands thoughtfully, keeping his eyes on her. "I believe you owe me an explanation."

His visitor gives a sigh of resignation before she takes a sip as well. "Fine. What do want to know?"

"Let's start with your name."

"Don't get cocky." Ignoring his scowl, she already is back to her smug and cheeky smirk. "Another time, maybe. Ask me something else."

"Who did this to you?" The fact that he sounds more worried than he intended to ruffles him. If she notices it, she doesn't tease him about it. Instead, her smile flickers a little and she shrugs. "The Brotherhood's after me now. I broke an agreement, so I guess it's understandable that we're not exactly best friends any more. And the contract was closed, so blood must be shed and a life must be taken. It doesn't really matter that much if it's your or mine. And they'd just_ love_ it if it were both of'em."

That doesn't sound very logical to him but she seems sincere and right now, he has no intention of diving deeper into the issue of the Dark Brotherhood. At another time, however, she will have to justify herself to him and answer some more questions about her little organization. One thing at a time.

"Was it you who killed the other assassin and left him at my doorstep?"

She grins at him and takes another gulp of wine. "Got my letter, didn't you? Yes, that was me. And what makes you think it was just that one?" When he only frowns silently at her, she shrugs again. "Of course they'd sent others after you, after all they still want the septims from the contract. I stayed in the area and killed half a dozen plus the one I left with you."

Yet again, he finds himself staring at her, stunned. "Didn't you say you had… 'places to be'?"

She chuckles slightly. "Right… But it would be foolish to go through all of this and then you get killed by someone else. Didn't want my trouble to be for nothing. I'm glad you're still alive, by the way.", she adds, teasingly raising her glass to him. "Next question."

"What exactly happened?" He makes a vague gesture towards her and she contorts her face to a grimace and rubs over the shirt where underneath the fabric the wound is now fully healed.

"They caught up with me but the one who came first surprised me and… well, she managed to do all of _this _before I could kill her. Turned out she was dragging three others along who'd stayed behind a bit, and I couldn't take them all, so I bolted. Had to leave my things behind, too." She grimaces again. "Such a shame, there were some really sweet-" As if suddenly aware of his presence, she interrupts herself and shoots him a glance. "Never mind."

He only harrumphs, ignoring her comment - it doesn't actually surprise him that she is probably a thief as well. There most certainly is a lot more to her he still doesn't know. And he isn't sure he really wants to hear all of it. "So your fellow assassins are on your trail - and the first place you think of to seek sanctuary is here?"

With a lopsided sneer, she empties her cup and reaches for the bottle of wine to refill her goblet for herself. "Don't you worry, my dear Jarl, I'm not going to get you killed. And besides, you're the reason I'm in this mess, so you owe me now."

"That was not what I meant", he answers softly. "I only wondered if this is the safest place for you to be, since who is hunting you is also after me. We wouldn't give them a chance to kill two birds with one stone, would we? And you are right - whatever the circumstances are, I am well aware I owe you my life."

"Well, good." She returns his gaze openly for a moment and he thinks he sees surprise and maybe a bit of respect in her eyes. "Make sure you don't forget it. And, as I said, don't worry. As long as I'm here, the chances of you getting killed are actually a lot lower." She has already drained her cup again and puts it on the table to get up and stroll over to the bed. Not without taking one of the daggers with her. "I'm going to catch up on sleep now", she states, slipping under the sheets and pointedly turning the narrow blade between her fingers. "If you try anything funny, I'll cut something off of you. Clear?"

"Very much so." The corners of his mouth twitch; this, he believes without a doubt, though he would never think of doing something so indecent. Not that the thought of it isn't tempting - his eyes have drifted downwards when she walked past him, he could not help himself - but he is a man of honor and besides, this is definitively not the right time.

So instead, he settles himself in the chair she just abandoned, carefully slides aside her weapons and begins to work on some of the documents and letters laying there, while his visitor goes to sleep behind him. When the sun sets and darkness creeps into the room, he lights a few candles, then continues to work. From time to time, he casts a glance over his shoulder at her, wrapped in the blankets, eyes shut, and her hair tangled wildly around her head, glistening like flames in the candlelight. Her breathing is steady and her face much more calm and eased than before.

Trying to wrap his head around the mess they both are in, he smiles uneasily to himself. She certainly is much more capable to protect herself than he'd ever be, and still her peaceful form on the bed is a precious sight to him. Whatever happens, it looks like they will depend on each other for the time being.

The thought of it is not as troubling as it should be.


	4. Act IV

**Regicide**

**Act IV**

* * *

He doesn't sleep that night, only dozes off in his chair for a while, and when he wakes up before dawn, with a stiff neck and tired to the bone, she has already slipped away. She has taken her weapons and armor with her and even cleaned up her old ragged shirt and the empty potions vials without waking him. Except for the crumpled sheets, the room looks as if she was never here. He is, however, very sure he will meet her again soon.

And indeed, she comes to see him after only a few days, and then pops in and out of the palace for the next weeks. No one but him knows of her visits - at least no one mentions anything to him, and so he doesn't bring it up either, not even with Galmar though there is no one he trusts more than his housecarl. This is not so much about who he can trust but what she will do to him if she finds out he told someone about her. Something very painful, he would imagine.

Officially, the investigation of the threat on his life continues though he doesn't put much effort in it. The news she brings with her on a regular basis is much more interesting. She tells him the Dark Brotherhood seems to have received the message that he is out of their reach for the moment. Still, it's unlikely they will give up so easily. When at some point she reveals to him the amount of septims promised for his head, it troubles him more than he would admit. It is a sum to make someone rich, _very_ rich, and while that reduces the number of people who possibly concluded this agreement, it also means the Brotherhood will grudge no pains to fulfill the contract. And who knows who else will come for him.

If it wasn't for her aid, he would most likely be dead by now. Strangely enough, it is a both disquieting and reassuring thought.

He gets used to her quiet, but intriguing presence. When she is gone, he misses her.

But he has a war to fight and he is busy gathering the troops. The battle for Solitude nears. Only a few weeks now.

Since he has enlisted the Dragonborn's help for the upcoming battle, there is no doubt they will take the city in no time. The man may be wayward and stubborn, even unreliable sometimes, but as a true Nord, he feels nothing but contempt for the Empire. The fact that they almost cut off his head at Helgen probably figures prominently into this.

And he isn't ashamed to use the hero's wrath to his own advantage.

He wonders what he should do with Elisif when they have conquered the city. It is no secret Torygg's widow hates him with all her heart. He doesn't blame her. He did what he had to do but he can't expect her to understand that, even more since she is too young and inexperienced to cast off the Imperial yoke on her own, to even understand how she is only a marionette, a puppet. Or maybe she does understand but is still too afraid to do something about it. He will help her with that, and he will spare her life. Then she will be at his mercy and not only will it keep her in line but it also will show the other Jarls his good will. One day, she will be grateful for his actions, he tells himself. Most times, the thought is enough to silence his conscience.

It's almost midnight and he still sits in his bedroom hunched over his desk. Finally, he leans back, rubbing his neck, and decides he is too tired to concentrate any longer for today. A breeze lets the candle on his desk flicker softly and he flinches when he hears the voice close behind him.

"You should sleep more, you know."

Slowly, he turns around and eyes her, the expression on his face more disgruntled than he actually feels. "You're one to talk. And you know how much I dislike it when you do that.

He has told her repeatedly but she still finds it amusing to appear out of nowhere and startle him. Once again, she only laughs. "That's why I keep doing it. Don't be such a spoilsport."

"How long have you been standing there?"

"Only a minute." She strolls over to him, leans with the back at his desk and he looks up to her, trying to read her face. Around him, she doesn't wear the hood any more, at least, though she still hasn't told him her name. That reminds him to ask her about her father again at the next suitable opportunity. Maybe now she is ready to tell him some more about herself.

He shouldn't care. It shouldn't interest him at all. But he can't help it. She intrigues him.

"Actually", she continues, "I came to tell you something."

"What about?"

"I made a decision." She crosses her arms in front of her chest, the gesture is uncommonly insecure and defensive, but what worries him even more is the absence of her smile, there is not even a hint of the usual smirk on her face. Whatever this is about, it's troubling her.

"A decision?"

"Well, more of a plan, really." She hesitates for a moment, either because she doesn't want to explain it to him or because she isn't sure about her plan herself. "I'm going back to the Sanctuary."

So has she, in the end, decided to side with her fellow assassins? If she wants to kill him now, he isn't even sure if he is going to fight her. The look on her face, on the other hand, tells him she has a different plan. But… no. That would be madness.

"What are you saying?"

Her eyes are hard. "I'm going back to the Sanctuary and I'm going to kill every last one of them and then I'll burn the place to the ground."

His heart stops for a beat and his mouth goes dry when she says out loud what he feared she meant. He missed her while she was away and surely, he knows she is leading a dangerous life but he knows quite well she is capable of protecting herself and while he was worried sometimes, he has never feared for her. Until now.

"You want to go there - alone. You can't possibly be serious. You of all people must know confronting them head-on is suicide."

"Says the Jarl who takes on an Empire", she shoots back.

"You know that is completely different. Unlike you, I am not taking an irresponsible risk."

She huffs dismissively and for a moment, he wants to grab and shake her until she comes to her senses. "Don't be ridiculous. I can defeat them as long as I don't have to meet them in open combat. Besides, offense is the best defense, isn't it? There's not that many of them left, and I have the element of surprise on my side."

He rises from his chair so he towers over her and stares down at her with a scowl. Unfortunately, it frightens her not in the least; on the contrary - she looks anything but intimidated and glares back at him defiantly. "You're going to get yourself killed. Do I have to lock you up in a cell to prevent you from behaving like a damn fool?"

"We both know your walls and locks can't hold me. So stop patronizing me. Or…" Suddenly she stands a lot nearer to him than before and he hasn't even seen her move a muscle. Her fingers play teasingly with the straps on his garment. "…I'd begin to think you actually fear for my life." He catches her wrists and holds them, gently though; and she lets him and stares up to him. Close as she is, he can see the light freckles on her skin, the pink scar on her cheek, it gives her face an asymmetry and fierceness that make her even more beautiful. And the sparks in her eyes, like wildfire.

If he comes too close, it will burn him. But he doesn't care anymore.

"That I do", he admits quietly.

She only laughs in his face, then frees her hands without effort in a fluid motion and cups his face with her palms. "Don't. I can take care of myself. And besides – I don't want to run from them for the rest of my life. Do you?"

"If it prevented you from something so foolish, I would take on that burden."

She gives him one of the rare smiles that aren't smug. Only gentle, caring even. "Well, that burden is not yours to carry."

He sighs, his resistance crumbling. She is right, of course: If she wants to leave, he cannot stop her. It is entirely her decision. Why did she even bother to tell him? When he asks her, her smile doesn't fade despite her words. "So you know what happened to me if I don't return."

It is then that he realizes she does not fear death, not in the least. Though she will fight for her life, if death finds her, she will not treat it as a foe but as an old friend.

He, on the other hand, feels a sharp pain at the thought of losing her.

"I could send men with you, help you-"

"They'd only get in the way. Trust me, this will be over soon."

When she raises herself on her toetips and kisses him, his heart skips a beat again, this time for completely different reasons.

She tastes like rain and pines and the smoke of a burning fire.

When she softly bites his lower lip and runs her tongue over the spot to soothe the sting, he growls against her skin and hungrily claims her mouth, a hand in her neck to hold her close. She presses against him in with a passion matching his own; her hands clasp his face so he does not dare to go anywhere. He aches for her – quite in the literal sense – and it takes every ounce of his willpower not to take her right here on his desk.

Before he can do anything like that, she pulls back, fingers sliding down from his shoulders over his arms, before she removes herself fully from him. She does not breathe as heavily as he does but her cheeks are flushed and the fire in her eyes is brighter than before.

But she takes a step back, ready to leave.

His voice is slightly tense and husky from desire and the feelings he does not want to admit openly. "When you come back - will you tell me your name?"

She smiles at him while moving backwards, away from the candlelight, until the shadows of the night begin to swallow her figure. "We'll see." Then she is gone and leaves him behind with his sorrows and his fear for her, but her laugh still rings in his ears like silver bells.


	5. Act V

_[A/N: Contains a little bit of kinky stuff though still within the rating T (I think). Hope you enjoy! Reviews will be cuddled, loved and frequently FUS-RO-DAH'd.]_

* * *

**Regicide**

**Act V**

* * *

It takes her three days and three nights two return from her mission to the Palace of the Kings, three nights in which he doesn't sleep much, and when he does, his dreams are not particularly pleasant. During the days he has enough to do to keep his mind occupied. At night he mostly lies awake, staring into the darkness, waiting for a movement, a sign that she is back. That she is alive. He knows quite well he shouldn't care this much. Shouldn't become attached to her. Even when she comes back - if she comes back at all - this relationship isn't a healthy one. And he can't allow himself any kind of weakness, not now, when so much is at stake.

If you get too close to the fire, you'll get burned. The wise thing to do is to keep your fingers away from the flame.

On the third day, he hears the report of smoke rising over the woods of Falkreath. That night, she finally returns after he has feared the worst for three days, and he forgets the doubts he had.

She is covered in blood but is quick to reassure him that none of it is her own. She looks as if she has been dragged through the woods, dirty, worn out and weary. The bags and dark circles beneath her eyes tell him she didn't stop to sleep before she came back to Windhelm. She tries to hide it behind a façade of her usual smug complacency but her smile is forced and she is much quieter than before. When he takes her hands in his, he feels them shaking slightly and he can see the suffering that now veils the mischievous glint in her eyes.

He has only a vague idea how her organization works but he imagines she must have known those she killed. Known them quite well, maybe. He knows what it means to take a life, and though, considering her line of work, killing is somewhat different to her than to him, it still cannot have been easy for her. It is hard enough to put a sword through some foreign soldier. Murdering someone whose name and face you know is a completely different thing.

He has been there, though under different circumstances, but at least he has an idea of what she is going through.

So he doesn't push her to talk. He has a bath drawn and clean clothes brought for her, shares a meal with her, during which she stays silent for the most part, and watches over her sleep for a few hours. When she awakes and sits up in his bed, with bleary eyes, her hair all wild around her head, and the shirt, the laces fastening her collar only partially done, slipped over her shoulder and revealing more skin than one would call 'decent' - he remembers the kiss they shared and is tempted to repeat the act.

Then he thinks of what she has done, what she has gone through for the last few days and feels disgust for himself.

When she tilts her head and smirks curiously at him, he realizes he has been staring at her. "Missed me, eh?" Seeing her silent and withdrawn has been strange and worrying, so now, her being back to her normal self, the mockery fills him with relief.

"You could say that. I am glad you are feeling better."

She shrugs but drops her gaze to avert his eyes. "Did what I had to do, didn't I? I guess we're safe for now."

"For now?"

"Find out who hired the Brotherhodd yet? Because that person will definitively not give up so easily. Not when he or she has that kind of money. Well, I guess _I'm _save, at least."

He leans back in his chair with a frown. Of course she is right; he has feared as much. "I'll find out more in time. I have a war to win first."

She bluntly rolls her eyes in front of him. "Right. I forgot. You want to be king." Before he can correct her and tell her this is not about what he wants but what is his duty to his country, her glare puts him to silence. "Told you, I have no interest in politics. If you want to fight your little war, go ahead, but don't bother me with it."

"For someone who does not care about the war", he answers slowly, "you talk quite a lot about it."

Her face shuts down in an instant and he realizes too late that this was the wrong thing to say. "I don't _care_? You think _I don't_ _care_? My father _died _for you. I really have no idea why he thought you a hero. Looks like he doesn't know you well."

He almost winces under her furious glare and feels the sting of guilt. That he has hurt her. That he can't remember her father though he must have met him at some point.

"Forgive me. You are right, it is not for me to judge."

"No, it isn't." She grumbles but relaxes a bit, appeased by his apology. "Doesn't matter anyway."

They sit without speaking for a while and listen to the silence of the night. Morning is still far, the room is dark except a candle on an endtable beside the bed. He watches the shadows the flickering light throws on her face, and the corners of her mouth twitch when she catches him staring at her again.

"You know", he breaks silence, "you still haven't answered me."

She blinks at him. "You'll have to be more specific."

"You haven't told me your name."

"I see." Smiling, she shifts her position until she sits cross-legged on the bed, facing him. "Which one do you want to know? All those I used for the last years? The one the Brotherhood gave me? The one people whisper in fear on the streets?"

"How about the one your father gave you?"

There is a hint respect on her face, if only for the split of a second. He has expected her to laugh at him and find some way to avoid the answer again, so he is surprised when she looks him straight in the eye and answers upfront this time.

"My father named me Svenja."

Svenja.

He repeats the name softly, testing the feeling and the sound of it. It is a strong name, and he finds it suits her. "Then that is what I shall call you."

Her lips curl to a smile that is only slightly teasing. With a fluid motion she rises from the bed and walks towards him on bare feet, ever so graceful in every movement. She bends down to him to kiss him again, her hair falling like a fiery veil around them, and he puts his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to him so this time, she won't even entertain the idea of leaving. Her mouth is hungry, demanding, and he offers no resistance to her claim. She places her hands over his on her sides, breaking the kiss long enough to take a step back and pulling him up from his chair with her. As soon as he stands, she wraps her arms around his neck, fingernails piercing into the skin at his neck, and she fixes him with a gaze that is almost to intent to bare.

He lifts a hand to her face, stroking the soft skin, tracing the scar from her eye to her jawline with his fingers. When he cups her cheek and runs his thumb over her lips, she digs her teeth into his flesh and gently sucks his finger into her mouth, soothing the stings with her tongue. His heart slams hard against his ribs and his breath becomes erratic when the feeling of her tongue sends a wave of heat to his loins. He grits his teeth in a struggle for self-control, hardly able to restrain himself from pushing her down to the bed and taking her right now…

Slowly, she releases his thumb, and she possesses the imprudence to laugh in his face. But she must have noticed his state of mind because the laugh quickly turns into a desirous smile and she reaches up to place light kisses onto his cheek. "Do you want me?" Her breath feathers over his skin; it sends a shiver down his spine.

"You have no idea."

He decides he has waited long enough, puts his hands around her waist and pushes her towards the bed, not rough but firmly enough to make her gasp in surprise.

Good.

He's had enough of her little game.

They sink to the mattress together, and he removes her clothing in no time, pinning her down with his weight. He settles back a moment to take in the sight of her: the slender form and well-defined muscles that give her the ferocity and, at the same time, elegance of a feline predator, soft ivory skin with scars, some old, some new, each one telling a tale, and all making her even more beautiful in her wildness.

He gets rid of his own shirt and she runs her hands over his stomach muscles downwards, quick fingers working to unlace his breeches but he catches her wrists and pins them down over her head, hungrily claiming her mouth again, and she responds by wrapping her legs around his hips and eagerly pressing against him. But, no, he will have none of this; first she will have to suffer the same painful longing she caused him, shall yearn for him until there is nothing else on her mind but the craving for his touch.

Her mouth is parted slightly, her breathing heavy, her hair in a wild halo around her head, and to him, she easily is the most beautiful creature in this realm. He takes his time and teases her until she squirms and arches under him in sweet agony; her whimpers and moans fill the room and when she screams his name it is the sweetest - and most satisfying - sound he has ever heard.

For the rest of the night, they fight their own war between the bedsheets and by the time the sun sets over Windhelm, they have concluded a triumphant but sweet and unbelievably satisfying peace.

As the light of day creeps into the room, she moves slightly at his side and lifts her head a bit to give him a warm smile, and he values it even more highly since there is none of her usual smugness in it. Then he tells her he will be leaving for Solitude in a few days. She doesn't respond for a while, then shrugs. "Why are you telling me that?"

He gently runs his fingers through her hair and repeats the words she told him once. "So you know what happened to me if I don't return."

She grins at this, then snorts slightly. "Don't be silly." But when she rolls over to her side and looks up to him again, he can just a hint of worry in her eyes. "Want me to come with you?"

He would have asked her - and expected a 'no' - her offer, however, surprises him. "If you wish to. By now I understand that you have no dealings in this matter and I do respect that."

"Hmm." She rolls onto her back again, yawns and stretches her limbs like a tired cat. He finds himself watching her again, she is far too gorgeous to take his eyes off her for longer than a moment. Who knows how long this will last? He better savors every second she is with him.

"I don't really have much to do now", she continues, seemingly weighing her words carefully. He can sense that this is not entirely true but doesn't push the issue. It's none of his business, and he probably wouldn't want to know more anyhow. "So I guess I might as well join you."

He puts an arm around her shoulders and places a kiss on her temple. She allows it and even nestles up to him comfortably.

"Would be a shame if you'd die on me now", she mumbles against his shoulder and he laughs. "I'll try not to, then."

He briefly wonders what else fate has in store for them; this relations is not exactly made to last - but rather bound to end in disaster.

Then again, he feels willing to accept the challenge.


	6. Act VI

**Regicide**

**Act VI**

* * *

She doesn't accompany him on the journey but keeps her word and meets him at the camp in Haafingar before the battle. She shows no desire to wear the uniform of his soldiers; instead she is dressed in her usual dark leather armor, her sword at her side, daggers strapped to her belt. It would be, he thinks to himself, very strange to see her apparelled any different than this.

She offers to clear the city walls of archers, and as expected, Galmar expresses strong doubts about her skill and, mostly, her loyalty. She eyes his housecarl for a moment with quiet resentment and condescendence, then turns back to him and tells him to get his watchdog under control or she may think twice about assisting him. He firmly advices her to watch her tongue and tells them both to pull themselves together and sort this out after they have taken the city.

She huffs scornfully but, to his surprise, obeys and waits patiently until he has given the final orders. Then she vanishes and he only sees her again when they have breached the barricades blocking the city gate and she drives her unusually curved weapon through the Imperial swinging his sword at him. When she yanks out her blade, pushing the lifeless body to the ground, she grins at him. "Out of practice, huh?"

He only scowls at her, though she is not entirely wrong. It has been too long since he wore the steel plate armor, and he is not as young as he used to be but his hands still feel their old strength when they close around the helve of his war axe. While he relies more on brute strength - using the Thu'um scarcely, only when it is absolutely necessary – she fights with fast and precise strikes; moving with almost inhumane speed, every motion agile, almost graceful and with deadly efficiency; killing her opponents before they see her coming, before even seasoned and experienced soldiers have the presence of mind to react.

It would be fascinating to watch, really, were they not in the midst of a battle.

When they finally enter Castle Dour, she slips inside after the Dragonborn and let the door snap shut, but stays behind them, only observing.

He doesn't wish to kill Rikke, has hoped she could be reasoned with. He offers her her freedom twice and still she refuses. In truth, he already knew this would happen. He knows her too well. She still believes in the crumbling Empire and she cannot be convinced otherwise; she fights for what she believes in and – however wrong that may be – he can understand this. He gives her a clean death.

When Tullius tries to surrender, he almost laughs. A man of honor doesn't surrender, not even in the in the face of death. However, the general seems to understand that as well and accepts his fate.

He asks the Dragonborn if he wants the honor, and the hero of legends accepts with a grim look on his face. A quick blow from his battle axe and then it is done.

All he has worked for, what he has made so many sacrifices for, is finally reality. While it fills him with a bitter form of satisfaction, he feels neither joy nor relief. The biggest threat, the true enemies, is yet to be defeated. In that, Tullius was right.

All in good time. First, a speech is in order.

When he turns around, he notices Svenja watching the scene before her with an amused curiosity that seems inappropriate. As he walks back to the door, she follows him silently, the look on her face still of mild interest. In a low voice, he demands to know what she is thinking and she shrugs. "I wonder why you're making such a fuss about the death of the man."

"Even though he was my enemy in life, he deserved an honorable death."

"Honorable", she repeats thoughtfully, yet obviously with strong doubts. "There's no honor in death."

He shoots her a glance, irritated by the sudden philosophical mood of hers but not surprised by her words. Considering her line of profession, it is not unexpected how she feels about it. Maybe, he thinks, because her usual methods of killing is not particularly honorable either.

"I will gladly discuss this with you further, however, this is not the right time nor place."

"Right", she grins and tugs the hood over her head as they approach the door. "You have a speech to give."

"Don't wander away too far. I might have need for you later."

She chuckles slightly. "Sure." They both know she does as she pleases, and that she has fought for him once doesn't mean anything. She is no soldier, she does as she pleases and follows no orders. He may be Jarl, may one day be king, yet she will always be her own master.

When they step outside, she is gone in the blink of an eye.

* * *

Long after nightfall, he retires to one of the guest chambers in the Blue Palace. Washing off blood and sweat, he ponders over what this victory means in the grand scheme of things. He has to secure the borders as fast as possible. The Thalmor have probably reckoned that the war would take longer – and hoped for it, according to the dossier Svenja brought him – and he must make use of the time he has until they can array enough forces to plunge Tamriel into war again. The Empire might fall under the Dominion again but Skyrim will not; not as long as he lives.

He lies in bed for a while, tired but too engrossed in thought to sleep. Around midnight, the door opens with a silent creak and he sits upright in bed, instinctively reaching for the axe resting on a chair beside the bed.

Then he recognizes his visitor and leans back, relieved. "You could knock, you know…"

She chuckles and he realizes how much he loves to hear that sound though she mostly uses it to mock him. "And where would be the fun in that?"

He doesn't bother with an answer, instead watches her as she quickly undresses in the darkness, her skin shimmering in the light of the moons before she slips to him under the sheets.

"I was under the assumption you wanted to leave", he says quietly as he wraps his arms around her. She nestles up to him, pressing her slim and yet so compact body against him, one arm stretched out over his chest possessively."

"I wouldn't have left without goodbye."

"Really?" He rests his chin gently on her head, her face is buried at his neck; the scent of her hair, like pine and smoke, her breath feathering over his skin and the feeling of her soft curves wakes desire in him despite his exhaustion. "Because you already did that once, if I remember correctly."

"Things change."

She sound very casually but they both know this means a lot. Whatever happens, it seems their paths are inextricably interweaved, bound together somehow.

"Hm…" He bends his head down to trace kisses along her neck, her shoulder, and when she sighs breathlessly and tries to straddle him, he rolls them both around, pinning her down to the bed. Outside, during the day, she may treat him with as much condescension as she wants to. Here, it is him who has the upper hand and she is at his mercy. And she does not seem to mind that.

She smiles up to him, teasing and seductive and full of promises. As dangerous and deadly as she is, she might get him killed some day; but right now, he doesn't care; right now she offers him the sweet fruit of oblivion, and, if only for a night, he allows himself to let go and lose himself in her. Afterwards, when they are both trying to catch their breaths and she snuggles up to his arms, her cheeks flushed and her hair in a tousled wildfire around her head, he feels at peace.

At dawn, she gently slips out of his arms and begins to dress while he lays still and watches her. "You could stay with me. I always have use for someone like you."

She turns around and smiles at him while fastening the straps of her armor. "Unfortunately, I have business to attend to in Dawnstar. But thanks for the offer."

Dawnstar. He wonders if she is becoming sloppy or if she has revealed her destination to him on purpose. The latter seems more likely.

"Listen…", she continue, suddenly with hesitation. "There might be… bad news from Cyrodiil in the near future. And I mean _very_ bad news." She frowns, biting her lip shortly as if to prevent herself from saying any more. "I guess you'll want to assure them you had nothing to do with it."

"Bad news? What exactly are you talking about?"

She only huffs and cocks her eyebrows at him. "If you think I'm gonna tell you any more, dream on. Don't know why I told you anyhow."

He can't help but smile though he is more than a little worried. It seems she is still involved in some dubious schemes, and he does not like that at all. Because it could get her in trouble. Because it could get her killed. Because it pulls her away from him.

He only tells her to be careful and she gives him a smile. "You know me."

Does he?

When she is gone, he leans back and rubs his hands over his face. He can't fool himself, he has to acknowledge the fact that he will miss her. When she comes back – if she comes back at all – they will have to talk about the nature of their relationship – and the future of it. Because ultimately, he can't afford her capriciousness. She cannot become a distraction, a weakness.

Or else she might really get him killed some day.


	7. Act VII

**Regicide**

**Act VII**

* * *

She walks down to Katla's Farm and buys a horse because she is in no mood to go through the trouble to steal one. Money is not a problem, especially since most people in the Blue Palace don't seem to keep a close eye on their belongings; they probably still don't miss those coin purses and pretty pieces of jewelry. She couldn't help it, really, it's a nasty habit from her time in the Thieves Guild. She will, however, put those treasure to good use. After all, she has a sanctuary to rebuild.

The ride to Dawnstar gives her time to think. She has become awfully attached to the Jarl and that worries her. An affair - or whatever you'd call the _thing_ they have - is not something she can afford right now. Because sooner or later, he will begin to ask questions. Because unlike other men, he has the resources to investigate her schemes. Because if he comes too close to the truth, she will have to do what is necessary and kill him after all. And killing someone you are close to hurts. A lot. That much she has learned by now.

Not that she has taken any of that to heart, though. Instead, she's slept with him. Enthusiastically. Twice.

Maybe it's worth the risk. Only thinking about the previous night makes her skin burn where he has touched her - which is, really, everywhere; she blushes only from thinking about it and she is anything but prudish - but this goes beyond physical desire. They work together quite well, actually. And unlike so many other men, he doesn't seem to be bothered by her attitude, her wit and - mainly - her impudence. He doesn't only endure her, he seems capable of handling her, with patience for her sometimes, well, _bold_ behavior and never at a loss for an answer.

She likes that in a man. It's the reason she's had a little crush on Mercer Frey back when she was still working for the Guild - at least until she realized he had the emotional range of a rock - simply because he was so much fun to fight with: He was never tired of arguing with her, he was just as snide as herself and, at the same time, he didn't give a damn about what she was doing as long as she got the jobs done.

Luckily - or unfortunately depending on how one looks at it - the Jarl is not Mercer because unlike the latter, he _does_ give a damn. And she really hopes that won't become a problem in the future.

But first things first.

Night has fallen by the time she reaches Dawnstar. She leaves the horse near the inn, since she doesn't want to expose the poor animal to the predators of the woods, and walks to the entrance on foot.

_"What is life's greatest illusion?"_

"Innocence, my Brother."

She cracks a bitter smile; the doors always hold a great deal of wisdom but sometimes she wishes they would just shut up about it.

_"Welcome home."_

Home. Is this _home _now? If so, home is not a very welcoming place. She's always hated living underground like skeevers, she thinks, while walking down the stairs - it's dark, moist and the air smells musty - but it sure is a good place if you don't want to be found, much better than a house or the abandoned ruin of a fort. Astrid may have been a backstabbing bitch but she wasn't entirely stupid.

Still not clever enough to avert getting her throat cut, though. That was the only satisfying kill that day.

She finds Nazir down in the hall, sitting at the table over a late dinner. When she approaches, the Redguard lifts his head and keeps his eyes on her until she slips onto a chair across from him and draws her dagger to cut herself a piece of bread. "You're back", he states dryly.

"Obviously."

She didn't have the heart to kill Nazir - it was him who recruited her for the Brotherhood, who trained her and taught her everything she knows. They've always had a close relationship, and she learned he was the only one to speak in her favor when Astrid decided to declare open season on her, and he even laid down his weapons and didn't lift a finger to stop her killing their comrades.

Though part of him has still believed in all this_ 'Night Mother' _nonsense, she knows he has doubted Astrid's way of leadership for a long time. In the end, she could convince him to let the old corpse - and that jester guarding it with his life - burn down with the rest of the sanctuary in Falkreath. They will begin anew and rebuild the Brotherhood, only this time not based on a scare story for children, but as a real business.

Judging by the look on Nazir's face, he expects further explanation for her disappearance but she is far too tired for that. At it's none of his business, anyway. "Is the Katariah still at anchor?"

"I have not heard otherwise."

"Good. I'm leaving tomorrow. Is Babette around? I think I need to stock up my potions." The vampire stuck in a girl's body was out feeding when she got to the sanctuary back in Falkreath. She waited for her to return and then offered her to spare her live if she swore not to seek revenge and continued her services as usual, and the girl accepted. In fact, Babette doesn't seem bothered too much with this change of management. She thinks that is quite odd and, to be honest, more than a little creepy. Then again, what does she know about how the mind of a several hundred years old vampire works?

"She is on one of her… hunts. She will be back by sunrise." He watches her closely from across the table, eyes narrowed a bit. "Are you absolutely sure you can do this on your own? It does not seem to be a job for only one."

She stuffs some more bread into her mouth, shrugging, and chews carefully before she answers. "I'm sure. You know I rather work alone, someone else always gets in the way. Besides, you know I can take care of myself." He can't really argue with that since he's seen it with his own two eyes just recently. "In the meantime, I'm leaving you in charge of the sanctuary until I'm gone. This place looks horrible. Might wanna talk to our friend Delvin about that. And I need you to keep an eye out for new recruits. At some point, we'll establish agents in all major cities so we can get contracts more easily but first, we need more manpower."

"It will be done." He leans forward a bit, hands resting on the table, and still eyeing her with an intense and wary gaze that makes her slightly uncomfortable. "I hope we don't have to worry about a Jarl knocking at our door, do we?"

She narrows her eyes and her fingers instinctively grip the hilt of her dagger tighter. "What are you suggesting?"

"I only wonder if he inquires into the whereabouts of the loose girls who have shared his bed."

He doesn't have time to move back or even to flinch. The dagger slams down to the table with a echoing thud, pierces into the wood right between the Redguard's index finger and thumb, only half an inch away from where the fingers meet his palm. She still clutches the hilt, so tightly her knuckles turn white. Her eyes bore into his, a muscle on her jaw twitches as she tries to contain her anger. "I spared your life because you are useful to me", she hisses and Nazir still doesn't move a muscle, neither does he try to avert her gaze. "But I'm warning you… If you call me a whore again, I'll reconsider my decision." They both know she'd be able to take him down. He may be stronger and more experienced but she is younger and a lot faster than him. And she's had a good teacher. It wouldn't be the first time a pupil overcomes the master. "Is that clear?"

He has the nerve to crack a smile, _that damn bastard. _

"Sure. You didn't answer my question, though."

"Don't bother your pretty head about it." She yanks the dagger from the table's surface and tucks it back to her belt, then rises from her chair. "He'll leave us alone."

For now, at least. If that changes at some point in the future, she will handle it.

First things first.

* * *

Things really seem to turn out alright for her and the Brotherhood, and when she manages to climb aboard the Emperor's ship and steal the key from the captain without being seen, she thinks nothing can shatter her confidence. The guards on deck aren't a problem either. Everything is going according to plan.

Until she swims back to shore and sinks on the ground, face buried in her hands.

_"Yes, I must die. And you must deliver the blow. It is simply the way it is."_

The Emperor has died from her hands. She should be glad. Proud of herself. Instead, everything she believed in suddenly seems… shallow. Things aren't clean and simple anymore. Normally, if she can't strike from the shadows and people see their death coming, they panic. They cry, they plead, young and old alike, some try to run, some go numb and only have a horrified look in their eyes. No one wants to look death in the eye, no one has the courage to face it with some dignity. If it's the leader of the Dark Brotherhood or some scallywag from the streets, they all die the same: weak and defeated. They are prey. She is the predator. This is how it always was. This is the way things are supposed to be.

Titus Mede II. not only accepted his fate, he welcomed death like an old friend. She has never killed someone like this. And she couldn't stand it. Could hardly bear to look into those kind eyes. Her hand shook slightly when she plunged the blade into his heart, trying to give him the quickest and least painful death possible, but only after promising him to give the same fate to the one who demanded the Emperor's death.

She wanted to lay his body onto the bed, wanted to fold his hands and place a sword beside him to give him a dignified passage to the afterlife.

Instead, she bolted and now she sits here in the dirt on the riverbank, soaking wet and freezing and fighting back the tears while she desperately tries to make sense of everything.

_"Even though he was my enemy in life, he deserved an honorable death."_

Back in Solitude, she has laughed inwardly.

Now she feels like a fool.

Now she begins to understand there can be honor in death after all.

She takes a deep breath and collects herself, angrily rubbing the tears out of her eyes while she gets up and searches for the dry clothes she has hidden in the woods near the river.

Time to go to Whiterun. She still has a reward to collect. And a man to kill.


	8. Act VIII

**Regicide**

**Act VIII**

* * *

_You asked me what's my philosophy  
And I say, well there is one thing I know about being happy  
It's not about taming your pain and your fear and your enemy  
You gotta let 'em all loose and surrender to life's uncertainty_

_You asked me what is my advice  
And it's true I've been down this road once or twice  
And there are things you can't change and defeats you can't deny  
And you'll waste your time and your life and your love if you try_

- Tina Dico

* * *

He finds her at the graveyard where she leans at the stone wall of the Hall of the Dead, with the hood pulled deep into her face and arms crossed in front of her chest. He may not even have seen her had she not thrown back the cowl and watched him as he approached her. Her hair is curling over her shoulders, tinged in the color of a garnet by the light of the torches. Somehow, she looks different than when he last saw her, and it's not only the faint scar on her temple that wasn't there when she left him in Solitude. There is something in her eyes that wasn't there before, though he cannot name it. Something has happened, of that he is sure. Something has changed.

"You wanted to see me."

She cocks an eyebrow at his worried gaze and gives him a smile. "Gotta say, I'm surprised you came without your guards in tow. Careless of danger, are we now?"

He frowns and watches her with jokingly feigned suspicion. "I was under the assumption you decided to refrain from killing me. Was I wrong?" He has, in fact, not come alone - guards are securing the streets to make sure he can talk with her without interruption, though there his hardly anyone wandering around the streets at this late hour. He isn't sure why she left him a note to find her here instead of visiting him in the palace as usual. It does not seem like her.

"No, you weren't wrong. But only I know that I don't want to kill you. _You_ on the other hand can never be sure." She tilts her head slightly and looks up to him from under thick lashes. He isn't quite sure if she is mocking him again or if this time, she is actually worried about his well-being. Surprisingly, it becomes clear the latter is the case when she adds: "I heard some rumors. I'll look into them but do me the favor and be cautious until I know more, will you?"

"And it seems you won't reveal to me what those rumors are."

"No. Not until I have some evidence, that is. You're just going to do something stupid. Better leave this to me."

There is no point in trying to convince her otherwise. Still, he can't yet drop the subject. "And what is your reason for lending your help again? Am I not deep enough in your debt by now?"

"Yeah, well… I haven't got much to do right now, so I'm bored." She laughs at the disgruntled look on his face, the sound clear as a bell, and he secretly admires the way the tosses her head back, red curls dancing over her shoulders, the little dimples in her cheeks that soften her features. She is entrancing and beautiful, and he would have pulled her closer and kissed her right here, if there were not something else on his mind.

"Not much to do, you say. So, you haven't kept yourself busy, then?"

He watches with a feeling of grim satisfaction as suspicion creeps over her face. Either she really thought him dewy-eyed to this or she simply hasn't expected him to broach the subject.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

When he leans closer to her and she stiffens a bit, he is dead certain he plays with his life now. Or at least with his physical integrity. However, dumbfounding her like this is absolutely worth it - it is about time he repays her for doing the exact same thing to him so often.

"Do you want to say to my face that it was not you who killed the Emperor?"

It takes her only a moment to regain her countenance, then the deriding smile he knows so well is back on her lips. "You don't expect me to answer that, do you?"

That's not a 'no'."

"It's not a 'yes', either." She stretches out her hand to tug teasingly at the collar of his cloak. "Even if it was me - what would you do, eh? Lock me up in a cell? Send those Imperial hounds after me?"

He catches her wrist and brings her fingers to his lips for a moment, before he lowers his arm again without letting go of her hand. Her eyes grow warm at the gesture and her smile becomes more sincere. "If I would, would I live to tell the tale?"

"Probably not", she grins. He wouldn't do such a thing anyhow, and they both know that. In fact, she might just have done him a favor. As long as those Imperial milk-drinkers are busy with themselves, they won't bother him. Let them tear each other apart over the throne… Surely, she must realize that she has shaped the future of the Empire, if not all of Tamriel.

She stands closer to him now, and he realizes he is still holding her hand and she has not signified any intention to change that. It gives him a chance to study her face closer. There really is something… new about her. Something soft, even sad, maybe. As always, he finds it hard to read her.

"So… will you tell me now the true reason you wanted to see me?"

It is more of a lucky guess but she huffs quietly: "Nothing gets buy you, does it?" She is not looking at him, though; instead, her eyes have wandered to the gravestone in front of their feet. "There is", she continues hesitantly, "still a question you wanted answered, I think."

"A question I wanted answered?"

"My father", she reminds him, her eyes still on the stone. He follows her gaze; the name on the gravestone is difficult to see in the dim light but after a while, he can read the letters carved into the stone.

"Ulfgar Ice-Vein…" Then realization hits him. "Helgen." Why hasn't he seen that before? Now that he knows and remembers the man's face, he can see the similarity between him and his daughter. He should have noticed this earlier.

"Helgen", she confirms, her voice bitter. "He was the only one they executed before the dragon attacked."

Oh, he remembers that very clearly.

"I didn't know he had a child."

"Yes, well…" She tries to grin but it comes out a bit too forced to be as cynical as she probably wants it to be. "We didn't really talk much over the last years, you know… He wasn't exactly fond of some choices I made. Wish I could have talked to him about it one last time but I guess it would have ended in a fight anyway."

"I'm very sorry, Svenja." It's a shallow response but it is all he can offer her.

She shrugs it off."It was a cleaner death than being burned alive like the rest of'em. An Imperial captain got away but she… let's just say she vanished under mysterious circumstances. And since the - what does he call himself? - the Dragonborn has killed Tullius in your name, I guess there's no one left alive I can hold accountable."

"Except for me." He should have foreseen the trap the Imperials had set for them. Had he been more careful, so many lives could have been saved. His voice is calm, as her head snaps up and she stares at him, her expression changing from surprise to a gentleness he has not expected.

"Don't act like a fool. It wasn't you who bound him and chopped his head off. He followed you of his own free will. He took the risk and he paid the price. Simple as that. No need for you to feel sorry for yourself." Despite the rather harsh sound of her words, she has moved closer to him, absentmindedly playing with the straps of his cloak. "It's not going to bring him back, either."

"I suppose not", he grumbles while he wraps his arms around her waist almost instinctively. In secret, he feels relief that she does not blame him. "At least he died a hero and can call Sovngarde his home now."

"Hero", she mumbles disapprovingly, though she seems to avoid his eyes and her protest seems weak compared to her words back in Solitude.

They stand like this for a while, with her in his arms, her cheek leaned against his shoulder, and while he enjoys her closeness, the warmth of her body and the scent of her hair, he can't help but wonder how long it will take her this time to vanish again.

She proves him wrong when, after a while, she suddenly takes a deep breath. "Listen… do you still have use for someone like me?"

It is his turn again to be stunned. Then he gives her a smile and places a kiss on her temple. Something has indeed changed.

"I thought you'd never ask."

* * *

_[A/N: In case anyone knows if the soldier who was beheaded in the intro scene actually had a name - please tell me! I don't remember hearing anything in the game and I couldn't find his name in any TES Wiki, so I chose one for the poor man. ;3 ]_


	9. Act IX

_[A/N: By popular demand, here's the last chapter with the solution to the mystery of who wanted Ulfric's head on a silver platter. I'm not sure if this is really surprising or creative but when I came up with it, at least it made sense in my head. Please let me know what you think! Also, a huge thanks to everyone who followed, favorited and reviewed this story - I really appreciate it and I hope you had as much fun reading as I had writing it. Svenja as a character is really growing on me so I might give her another story in the future. We'll see. _

_I'd like to challenge myself, though, and write something with less popular NPCs (no Ulfric, no Brynjolf, no Vilkas… oh, I'm hating this already), so if you think a character from Skyrim is underrepresented in fanfiction and not given enough attention - maybe someone with only a minor role in the game, maybe even someone rather unlikeable - please feel free to tell me. I still have to do some brainstorming on this but if anyone comes to mind, let me know!_

_Now, enough blabbering from me. On to the chapter!]_

* * *

**Regicide**

**Act IX**

* * *

Again, she finds herself leaning against a cold stone wall and waiting, in the Throne Room of the Palace of the Kings this time, where she watches with mild amusement the little scene that takes place in front of the Jarl's throne. Sibbi Black-Briar never knows when to keep his mouth shut; like with so many other things, he needs his mother for that, pathetic little worm that he is. That reminds her to check on Svidi some time and see how the poor girl is doing.

Sibbi continues to rant and rave, to throw insults and threats while the guards lead him away to the barracks. Back to jail he goes and then probably to the chopping block… Not a great loss for the rest of the world, in her opinion.

However, Maven will most likely think differently.

When the guards and their prisoner are gone and she is alone in the hall with the king, she strolls over to the throne and takes a seat on the armrest. "You know his mother is behind this, right? She's just using him as a pawn sacrifice."

Ulfric rubs his beard and she notices the weariness of the gesture; it goes along with the shadows under his eyes. She has been away for the last few weeks - when she is in Windhelm, he gets more sleep since she usually is able to keep him in bed longer than it is his habit. Not that they do a lot of _sleeping_, though…

"Yes, I am aware. Unfortunately, we have no evidence of her involvement."

"Don't worry, I'm already on it. Just keep her in check 'til I'm back." That will be hard enough for him to do, and she is really glad she doesn't have to deal with Maven in person herself. That woman is a horrifying gorgon. And she is going to be upset. Really, _really_ upset. Not so much out of love for her precious son - oh please, the only person Maven loves is herself - but more because someone _dares_ to challenge her like this. And not just someone but the very person she wanted to see dead so badly.

She will be furious.

Which means Mercer will be pissed as well. The thought puts a grin on her face; there's hardly a more entertaining sight than the Guildmaster seething with fury. Maybe she should pay the Thieves Guild a courtesy visit as well. Yes, that definitively sounds like fun.

Ulfric's voice interrupts her thoughts. "What exactly would Maven Black-Briar have gained from my death?"

"Well… Laila Law-Giver is loyal to you, right? So, if you want me to guess, I'd say Maven hoped for the Empire to win the war so they'd make her the new Jarl of Riften." Not that she doesn't already own half the Rift as it but apparently, her greed knows no bounds.

He grunts in disgust and she can't help but agree with him. Not that she herself is the innocence in person but even she wouldn't sacrifice her own child. Or get involved with the Thalmor. Other than breaking into the Embassy, that is.

"Then I hope you find me that evidence soon. And after that, I have another assignment for you. Winterhold this time." He hands her a folded letter and, as usual, she puts it in her pocket without opening it. His tasks are always explained briefly and succinctly; no need to talk anything through.

"I better take my leave, then…"

When she rises from her seat, a bit more slowly than the usually would, and, as she has expected, he takes hold of her hands to hold her back. "There's no need to hurry. Why don't you delay your departure until tomorrow morning?"

She raises a smile at the underlying invitation and leaves him her hand for a second "You know, that's not a bad idea. And maybe you have… need for me later this evening?"

He laughs and she uses the moment to smoothly free her hand. "Yes, that may be the case."

She leaves the palaces in a good mood; he never fails to create a pleasant thrill of anticipation. And he always lives up to his promises… Also, it will be nice to sleep in a comfortable bed instead of a bedroll on the ground for once. Ever since she has, more or less officially, joined him, he's been sending her all across Skyrim, doing mostly the dirty work he wouldn't want to have the Stormcloaks associated with. When he told her for the first time what he needed her for, he sounded almost hesitantly - as if she'd refuse him because of some moral boundaries. It was very amusing but also sweet, in a way. And mostly, she doesn't mind those jobs. After all, it's what she does best. It's fine as long as she doesn't have to wear one of those scratching uniforms.

She has planned to talk some business with Niranye but when she arrives at the market, she sees someone else instead and stops in her track for a second, startled.

_Shit._

_Shit, shit, shit._

Nazir inspects some of Aval's goods, very casually, and does not give any indication he notices her until she stands beside him, though she knows quite well he has been aware of her presence from the moment she stepped around the corner.

"I thought", she hisses to him, so quietly no one but him hear her words, "I told you not to seek me out while I'm here." She has been dropping in and out the sanctuary, checking on the progress of the Brotherhood's rebuilding. As she had expected, Nazir has found two initiates who seem to get on just fine, and with their renewed reputation and agents in every major city in Skyrim, septims flow while they are frequently awarded new contracts. Soon, the Dark Brotherhood will be stronger than it was in centuries, thanks to her actions, and her judgment and advice which she gladly offers.

That doesn't mean he has the right to come here, especially not when she explicitly told him not to. She can't be seen with anyone _suspicious_, not here.

"I have important news", he answers in the same manner under his breath, only audible for her. No one has glanced at them with suspicion yet; to bystander, they look like two very random pedestrians stopping at the market stall, standing beside each other simply by accident, while Aval is busy talking to another customer. "News that could not wait until your return."

"Fine", she sighs and straightens herself, still angry but now even more curious. "But not here. You can buy me a drink."

They walk over to Candlehearth Hall and she gets two tankards of mead from Elda while Nazir picks a small table in the dim light of a corner. Luckily, the inn is crowded, filled with talk and laughter and Rolff Stone-Fists drunken insults, so nobody pays attention to them.

"Now", she says sternly when she puts the tankards down and takes a seat across from the Redguard. "What's this important news you want to tell me?"

"A new contract."

Nazir retrieves a roll of paper from his pocket and slides it over the table to her. Instead of taking it, she only stares firmly at the man opposite to her. "You know I don't do contracts anymore." All of this is complicated enough as it is - if she gets recognized or even busted during an assassination and Ulfric gets wind of this, things will get… _awkward_.

The Jarl knows, of course, nothing of her current position as the Brotherhood's new leader. He hasn't even shown any sign of distrust. The day may still come when she has to choose, and by now, she is sure which side to pick. As much as it frustrates her sometimes, she will not have the heart to kill the Jarl. Which means she'd have to destroy her hard work - again. And her fellow assassins with it. All of them, this time. She wonders if Nazir suspects any of that. Probably. He's not an idiot, after all.

"You might want to take a look at this, though. It would be perfect for you."

Still reluctant, but with growing curiosity, she grabs the paper and unrolls it, scanning through the contract. Her eyes widen in surprise and she reads it again, this time thoroughly.

"Are you fucking kidding me?"

The corner's of his mouth twitch. "I told you. You are the best for this task."

"Well." She leans back in her chair and carefully stores away the paper in a pocket of her cloak before curious eyes can fall on it. "I've certainly never killed a First Emissary before." She really shouldn't sound so excited and elated but she just can't help it.

"So you will do it?"

"I will. But this really is the last time. Do we know who made the deal?" There probably are quite a lot of people who want Elenwen dead. One of them is waiting up in the palace for her. Oh, he is going to like this when he hears the news.

"I have no name but I do know it was someone from inside the Embassy."

"Really…" She cocks an eyebrow, rubbing her nose while she thinks about that. "Seems like they got a bit of quarrel going on up there, eh? Or it's a trap for us."

Nazir doesn't answer, only takes a sip from his tankard and continues to look at her. As if he's expecting her to draw a certain conclusion.

At last, the septim drops.

"Not us - me. You think it might be a trap for me. But …" What would they want with her? What interest could the Thalmor have with… - _Oh._

"You think it's a trap for me because of my connection to Ulfric?" _Shit. _So, this is why Nazir wants her to do this. So, just in case it really is a trap, the elves get the right person and leave the rest of the Brotherhood alone. She almost laughs; he really is a clever man and though this could be considered an act of backstabbing, she can't be too angry with him. In his place, she would have done exactly the same. And it's reasonable, really. If the Thalmor are after her because of her relationship with Ulfric, there's no reason to draw the Brotherhood into this.

"We will know once you get there." Nazir pushes his tankard away, apparently getting ready to leave. "Tell me, does your Jarl know you are now leading the organization that tried to murder him? Is he aware of what you do?"

"Of course not." She narrows her eyes as she draws her attention to him with growing suspicion. His voice has changed, still calm but with an underlying threat. What is he getting at now?

"I wonder what he would do if he ever found out", he remarks oh so innocently.

_Bastard. _

"If you plan on slipping him a note - don't bother. I have him wrapped around my finger; he's not going to do anything. But maybe I'll tell him to send his men after you. I don't think you'd enjoy being chased by a whole army."

She can see him almost smirk again before he shoves his chair back and rises to his feet. "Luckily, I do not plan on doing that." At least it reminded her she can't trust him. "You will certainly need to make some preparations before you leave for Haafingar, so I believe I'll see you back home."

"Sure."

Not that it's _home_, though.

She watches him leave and then leans back in her chair, stretching out her legs and gradually relaxing. She will have to do something to keep Nazir under control. This is becoming more stressful than she has anticipated - constantly keeping the members of the Brotherhood in line, reminding them who the one in charge is. Poor Astrid, she thinks, now she understands what the woman must have felt like. Only that she will not get herself killed by one of those little nitwits. Oh no, she will make sure they know their place.

But all in due time.

Her fingers sweep over the paper in her pocket. She has no personal - or political - reason to despise the Thalmor but that doesn't mean she has to like those condescending, arrogant elves. She really has no moral objections on this one. Wiping the despising smile of Elenwen's face will definitively be most satisfying.

She takes a sip of mead and smiles to herself.

This is going to be so much fun.


End file.
